Obscene Symphony

The Shattering of Aegis

_{✧ Location: Soft Haven Cemetery ✧ Purse: 12 copper ✧ @Mcmolly ✧}

All told, Kyreth’s arrival in Soft Haven – or more accurately, outside Soft Haven – was a lot calmer than he expected. In fact, he’d go so far to say it was actually kind of pleasant, which was a nice change of pace. He got to spend the night around a warm fire (thankfully, without incident), and for the first time in ages, got to have a bit of conversation. Well, “conversation” was a strong word, seeing as Lilann really did most of the talking on her own, but Kyreth was content to sit quietly and listen. The night was kind to them, withholding the typical late autumn rain, and Kyreth was surprised to find the Soft Haven cemetery a rather peaceful spot to sleep.

That wasn’t to say the night passed without incident, though. At one point, a horrible feeling of imminent danger shocked Kyreth from slumber, the boy shooting up like a sprung snare, pawing reflexively for his crescent. But, like so many other times he’d been started out of sleep, he saw nothing in the dark; no beast standing over him, no pitchfork-wielding mob, nothing. As such, he brushed it off as yet another case of some woodland sound startling him and managed to get back to sleep.

As usual, Kyreth woke again at first light, blinking groggily up at the still-dim sky as he gathered up his senses. He was well acquainted by now with the stiffness that came from sleeping on the ground, but his tail complained especially loudly this morning; he would usually have unbound it from his waist for the night, but opted to keep it hidden since he wasn’t alone. Before he even lifted his head, Kyreth closed his eyes once more and put his hands over the pendant on his heart, whispering a prayer of thanks to Selene for once more seeing him safely through the night.

Cold from the pre-dawn chill, Kyreth clutched his worn, dew-dampened cloak around him as he finally sat up, pawing blindly behind his head for the hood that had fallen off as he regained his bearings. Out of habit, he patted himself down for his belongings; knife, purse, crescent, cloak (obviously), and – oh, his packet of trail food was missing. Right, he’d shared some last night with Lilann. Absently wondering if he’d have enough left over to last him until his first Bounty House pay or if he’d have to buy more today, Kyreth looked around for the oilcloth packet, and found it on the grass next to him – and next to that, a bunch of deep, jagged gashes in the soil.

Kyreth withdrew his hand as if he’d seen a snake and scrambled to his feet, backing a few paces away as his tail squirmed nervously under its wrappings. The marks weren’t just there; there were many of them, stretching to each side until they encircled their whole camp.

“Li— uh, Lilann?” Kyreth rasped dryly, not taking his eyes off the marks. They looked fresh, tearing up the grass in what looked like a series of deep scratch marks. Were those there when he got here? It was too dark then to see the ground in any detail, but why would a graveyard be torn up like that? A wave of dread washed over Kyreth; not just fear of what sort of creature had to have prowled around them as they slept to make these, but a fear that a Soft Haven guard could come over any moment and blame him for ruining their graveyard.

No, no dammit, this had to be a misunderstanding, right? Nothing big enough to make those marks would pass through unnoticed – or without making a quick meal out of the two sleeping Tainted in its path. No, no way – sure, something woke him up, but he didn’t see anything, let alone something with claws big enough to do that.

Maybe Lilann would know. She was doing that weird ritual with the smoke when he arrived; maybe this was part of it. Yeah. He tried to clear his throat, calling out to Lilann again without taking his eyes off the marks on the ground. He did his best to keep the fear out of his voice, but he couldn’t purge the shakiness. “Was this part of your… funeral… thing?”

The Shattering of Aegis

I'm sorry. I didn't mean any harm.

“I don’t want any trouble.”

Male | 18 | 6’4” | 140lbs

Name

Kyreth

Appearance

Kyreth is very tall and slim, weighing about 160lbs with a wiry, sinewy build honed from a lifetime of odd jobs and limited food. His stark white hair is short and choppy, lying every which way even as he tries to brush it back, and the only “style” to speak of is the inconsistent lines of a haircut obviously done with a knife. His dark complexion hides the oft-present shadows under his eyes, and a tight-lipped nervous frown conceals a mouthful of sharp teeth.

Aside from his dark grey complexion and his speckling of white freckles, the first things people usually notice about Kyreth are his eyes; entirely white and pupil-less, they’re a dead giveaway of his Tainted blood, even if his horns and tail are covered. His horns are quite short and curl tightly over his head, making them mercifully easy to cover up. His tail is quite skinny as Tainted go, and long enough for the end to lay on the ground - if it ever decided to lay still, that is. It tapers smoothly to a point resembling half an arrowhead.

In an effort to make traveling a little easier, Kyreth hides his Tainted features to the best of his ability, concealing his horns with his hood and hiding his tail under his tunic, wrapped tightly around his waist. With his pointed ears, from a distance he can almost pass for a dark-skinned Elf, although the charade usually fails once anyone comes close enough to notice the distinct lack of pupils in his eyes.

Classification

Primordial - Fire

Abnormality

Kyreth has a spattering of white freckles on his face and body, concentrated around his cheekbones (especially the outer corners of his eyes) and the tips of his horns and tail. These freckles, along with his eyes, glow dimly in the dark.

Personality

Kyreth is non-confrontational to the bone. Fairly meek and lacking much confidence, he’ll take a lot in stride if it means avoiding a fight. In a group, he’s liable to try and play the mediator, but equally likely to get steamrolled if the parties aren’t convinced by his soft tone and shrinking presence. Still, he does his best to break up fights, even though the practice has earned him a few bumps and bruises in the past.

Abuse is a fact of life for the Tainted, and one Kyreth has grown to accept; when faced with contempt or even violence, he prefers to either escape the situation or endure until it’s over, often with an apology on his lips. While he plays the role of doormat well, he’s not driven so much by self-preservation, but by concern; he has a sickening fear that taking too much exception to “the everyday hassles of life” will only serve to embolden the more sinister part of him, making him do something he’ll regret. To Kyreth, a few scrapes and bruises from those who spurn his kind aren’t worth losing himself to his own innate savagery and confirming their fears.

Even as mankind rejects him, Kyreth also struggles to find community among his own kind. Although he grew up under the care of a protective Tainted community, he’s grown to become even more uncomfortable around them than he is around other races, feeling utterly alien with his aversion to dishonesty and violence. As such, he ended up in no man’s land, finding no home among the Tainted nor the rest of the world. Deep down, he worries that if he were to live among the Tainted again, as he used to, he’d revert back to his old ways and lose all the progress he’s made. Best not to stay too long.

Above all else, Kyreth just wants to lead an honest, unintrusive life. He’s gentle at heart, if a little guarded, and tries his best to be kind to anyone he meets - sometimes to degrees very much undeserved. It’s an uphill battle, but for Kyreth, every meek smile not returned or kind word answered with scorn is just one more step toward atoning for his ancestors’ sins - and his own.

Bio

The beginning of Kyreth’s story is not unique, at least among the Tainted.
Left on the doorstep of a Tainted orphanage in the Dregs of Buscon, he was just one of many helpless, crying babies disposed of the moment they opened their pupil-less eyes.

Although the world is a cold and dangerous place for the Tainted, for a blessing the Dregs were somewhat of a haven; with blades drawn and teeth bared to the rest of the world, the Tainted of Buscon fiercely looked after their own, and as such the many orphans of Urchin’s Run grew up with something of a family all around them. Tainted children were more or less welcome just about everywhere in the Dregs, and given guidance and leniency not afforded to outsiders. It was common for those in the community with a little to spare to kick some to the orphans, either in donations to the oft-crowded Dragon’s Clutch orphanage (originally named “Aziaza’s Refuge”, which understandably didn’t stick) or directly to the children themselves, who would often use their spoils to practice the bartering and swindling skills they picked up from their elders.

Things worked surprisingly smoothly. With outsiders generally wary of the Dregs, the insular Buscon Tainted managed to avoid much of the vitriol suffered by others of their kind, running an internal society relatively cut off from the rest of the city. Any outsiders naive enough to wander in usually regretted their time there, falling victim to pickpocketing and cheating at best, or violence at worst. Although conflict between Tainted often crackled, most fights were swiftly ended by bystanders and perpetrators ostracized for disturbing the peace; outsiders, however, were fair game.

And so it went. To Kyreth, it was normal; outsiders hated them, so any foolish enough to intrude on their one sanctuary got what was coming to them. Children were protected, but not coddled; Kyreth and every other child was expected to earn his own way and keep his head on a swivel; “You’ll need that skill one day,” as his elders always said. So, from the moment he was old enough to hold a broom, Kyreth worked; sweeping up taverns, running errands for brothel ladies, playing the innocent accomplice to swindlers - every job, no matter how dingy or underhanded, was worth the room and board it earned him.

But that didn’t mean he liked it. Kyreth was used to the harsh life of the Dregs, but he wasn’t well suited for it; in an uneasy peace maintained through necessity and a hierarchy of might, the skinny, small-horned boy fell squarely at the bottom of the totem pole. Averse to conflict and bad at it besides, Kyreth was easily pushed around by his peers and ordered hither and yon by his elders, with little capability or option to refuse. He made a habit of shrinking into corners when brawls broke out - and there were many - and always flinched at the blows and insults thrown around, no matter how many times he’d seen or heard them. The crass stories of tricking, cheating and beating outsiders that everyone else seemed to enjoy disturbed him, and even as he grew up and his peers grew into their underground society, the underhanded ways of the Dregs never stopped making Kyreth… uncomfortable.

Maybe that was why, despite his community’s tense closeness, Kyreth never really felt like one of them. In a pack of wolves, it seemed he was the runt, never strong or bold enough to bare his teeth like the others did, and shying away from the fervor of their voices when they howled. Though he’d never voice it, he could see why outsiders feared the Tainted; they thought his kind were traitors, devils, and worse - and after all he’d seen, who could blame them? The Dregs weren’t entirely bereft of kindness, but it was never offered to outsiders, who were ironically decried for their intolerance as the Tainted refused to tolerate them.

And that wasn’t even to mention Kyreth’s own sins. They started when he was young, too young to realize they even involved him, but whenever he got scared, or frustrated, or angry… accidents happened. Most of the time, it was just a bit of singed hair or a scorched hem after a particularly vexing scuffle with bigger kids, a leaping candle flame when a tavern patron said something particularly crass, but sometimes they were worse. Once, he set an outsider’s pantleg on fire by accident when the man tried to kick him out of the way, cursing at the “damn devils” in his path. Kyreth had heard the stories of the Tainted, how they were a cursed, fallen race, punished by Aziaza Herself for their alliance with the dragons - to him, it only made sense that his little “accidents” were a result of that unholy union. Why else would fires leap to life when he got angry, if not for some ancient draconic curse?

So he clung to the shadows, and did his best to contain the devil that seemed to dwell inside him. But when his whole world was a slum beset by crime and conflict, how could he possibly avoid feeding his sinister side? Avoiding confrontation was a delicate dance all on its own, let alone prying himself out of underground jobs he’d done for ages without protest. As time went on and keeping his darker side in check grew more and more demanding, Kyreth had no choice: he had to separate himself from the moral depravity of the Dregs and remove the temptation. No, it wasn’t just the Dregs - he had to get out of Buscon altogether, go somewhere new where he could get away from his dishonest life and start again.

So he did. As soon as winter ended in his eighteenth year, Kyreth gathered what few belongings he had and abruptly left, offering no explanation. Knowing only life in the bowels of Buscon, he laid eyes on what lay beyond the city walls for the first time and ventured out in search of something better.

That was the idea, anyway. In reality, it was a miserable endeavor; if it wasn’t hunger and cold snapping at his heels, it was other travelers throwing stones as he passed, or shops and villages chasing him away. More than once he found himself on the receiving end of violent thugs airing their grievances, and he could count on his fingers the number of nights he managed to spend under a roof. But, despite more than once yearning to return to the Dregs and put his lofty ideals behind him, Kyreth persevered, continuing his trek down the coast to Straithmoor. After all, those people were just scared - and Kyreth couldn’t blame them.

Straithmoor welcomed him as much as any other settlement along the way: with curses, stones and pitchforks. But as he searched on the edge of town for a good place to camp, Kyreth found something he didn’t expect: a tiny old woman mending a fence, calling out for him to help her. He didn’t believe it at first, thinking she must have meant to call for someone else, but there was nobody; it was just him, her, and a vast empty field. When he drew closer, he saw her cloudy grey eyes and for a second, thought she was another Tainted in disguise, living impossibly among this harsh and hostile town. But he was wrong - she was simply blind. No wonder she called out to him, she couldn’t see what he was.

Kyreth thought about outing himself to her - it would feel dishonest to lend a hand to someone who might not otherwise want it if they knew what he was - but decided to hold his tongue. After all, if she chased him off, her fence would stay broken, and that didn’t seem to be much help. Resolving to confess after his work was done, he followed her summons and helped her patch the fence. But just as he was about to inform her and take his leave, the woman asked another favour of him. Then another. And another. And more and more until he’d been sleeping in her shed and eating her food for two months in exchange for whatever help he could provide.

Food and board weren’t all she provided, either. She also provided company, companionship the likes of which Kyreth had never known before. He chalked it up to a lonely old woman wanting someone to talk to, but the reason didn’t really matter to him; he drank up every word, every second like a castaway finding fresh water. She told him stories about her late husband, the dedicated rancher; her sons, the fishermen, all dead now; and most importantly, she told him about Selene, lady of the moon and deliverer of the downtrodden.

Selene’s message touched Kyreth to the very core. The only god he knew much about before was Aziaza, who cast down the treacherous Illarin and would probably add every Tainted to her throne of bones upon their deaths - understandably, not an encouraging tale. But until now, Selene was unknown to him, and her mission of succor to the poor and suffering was the first glimpse of hope beyond death that Kyreth had ever seen. He latched on immediately, and became an adamant follower as soon as Berta taught him how. Impressed with his enthusiasm, she even gifted him the crescent hanging in her doorway, insisting that he needed the protection from bad luck more than she did.

Those two months were a dream come true for Kyreth, but sooner or later, everyone must wake. And Kyreth did wake; abruptly and violently. Having got it into his head that he would do something nice for Berta, he went into Straithmoor proper with some proceeds from her farm, hoping to trade them for a chunk of good swordfish - Berta’s favourite. But while the fishmonger took his payment, he wouldn’t hand over the fish. Instead, he laughed in Kyreth’s face, scoffing over the idea of trading with a devil.

Normally, the insult wouldn’t bother Kyreth, and he’d cut his losses and go away. But those were Berta’s wares the fishmonger had stolen, and Kyreth couldn’t tolerate that. As hard as he tried to contain himself, his temper flared - and so did a flame, catching the fishmonger’s stall alight and reducing it and his catch to ash. In an instant, the fishmonger and many of the passerby were on Kyreth, and it was all he could do to escape the town in one piece. He couldn’t go back to Berta’s house, fearing for her safety as well as his own, so he ran until his legs could no longer carry him and the shouts and torches faded into the night.

And that was it. A perfect dream, ruined in an instant. Kyreth was distraught, more convinced than ever that he harboured an evil that needed to be contained. But he still had to eat, and the winter cold was fast approaching, so he made for the road again. Apparently some establishment called a “Bounty House” had just opened in Finnagund, far away from anyone who knew who he was or what he’d done.

Likes

• Working - legitimately earning his keep gives him more satisfaction than anything else in the world.
• Helping people when he can
• Full moon nights - they make him feel like Selene is watching over him.
• Fish, almost any way

Dislikes

• Fire - accidents always seem to happen whenever he’s around it.
• Deceit - or anything dishonest, shady, or generally off the straight and narrow.
• Conflict
• Temples - despite his faith in Selene, he always feels like an intruder on holy ground.
• Meat, unless dried - there’s just something uneasy about eating something with blood.

Habits

• Looking over his shoulder
• Apologizing
• Checking his belongings
• Grabbing the back of his neck
• Hiding his teeth (for example, trying not to smile too wide)
• Clutching his Selene pendant when nervous

Inventory

Kyreth doesn’t have much, but he does make sure to carry:

• 12 copper
• A weathered, waist-length cloak with a large hood, fashioned from one piece of canvas. He’s had it since he was small enough for it to fall to his knees.
• A sturdy needle and a spool of strong linen thread
• An old single-edged knife, sharpened so many times that the blade has grown narrow
• A sharpening stone
• A large water skin
• An oilcloth bundle of cheap traveling food, like dried meat or fish skins
• A heavy, palm-sized Crescent of Selene, crudely fashioned from iron and worn under his tunic on a leather cord. This is without a doubt his most treasured possession.

Other

• Kyreth prefers to cover his horns with a hat if he can find one; he fears that walking around hooded all the time makes him look suspicious. Sadly, his only hat recently got destroyed in a Mishap, so it’s back to hoods for now.
• Like most Tainted, Kyreth’s tail is very reactive to his emotions, so it can be difficult to conceal wrapped around his waist. As such, he prefers to keep his cloak on whenever possible.
• Growing up in gambling houses got Kyreth pretty good at Buscon’s most popular games of chance - and especially good at cheating. However, he renounced that practice years ago in pursuit of leading a more honest life.
• Kyreth keeps a careful mental account of favours and debts, a carryover from the Dregs where such things were taken very seriously. However, these days he often neglects to collect on them, and tries his best to give without expectation of return.
• At RP start, Kyreth has a shadowy mark on the left side of his face, which is the remnant of a nearly-healed bruise from his escape from Straithmoor.

The Shattering of Aegis

I'm sorry. I didn't mean any harm.

“I don’t want any trouble.”

Male | 18 | 5’11” | 140lbs

Name

Kyreth

Appearance

Kyreth is fairly tall and slim, weighing about 140lbs with a wiry, sinewy build honed from a lifetime of odd jobs and limited food. His stark white hair is short and choppy, lying every which way even as he tries to brush it back, and the only “style” to speak of is the inconsistent lines of a haircut obviously done with a knife. His dark complexion hides the oft-present shadows under his eyes, and a tight-lipped nervous frown conceals a mouthful of sharp teeth.

Aside from his dark grey complexion and his speckling of white freckles, the first things people usually notice about Kyreth are his eyes; entirely white and pupil-less, they’re a dead giveaway of his Tainted blood, even if his horns and tail are covered. His horns are quite short and curl tightly over his head, making them mercifully easy to cover up. His tail is quite skinny as Tainted go, and long enough for the end to lay on the ground - if it ever decided to lay still, that is. It tapers smoothly to a point resembling half an arrowhead.

In an effort to make traveling a little easier, Kyreth hides his Tainted features to the best of his ability, concealing his horns with his hood and hiding his tail under his tunic, wrapped tightly around his waist. With his pointed ears, from a distance he can almost pass for a dark-skinned Elf, although the charade usually fails once anyone comes close enough to notice the distinct lack of pupils in his eyes.

Classification

Primordial - Fire

Abnormality

Kyreth has a spattering of white freckles on his face and body, concentrated around his cheekbones (especially the outer corners of his eyes) and the tips of his horns and tail. These freckles, along with his eyes, glow dimly in the dark.

Personality

Kyreth is non-confrontational to the bone. Fairly meek and lacking much confidence, he’ll take a lot in stride if it means avoiding a fight. In a group, he’s liable to try and play the mediator, but equally likely to get steamrolled if the parties aren’t convinced by his soft tone and shrinking presence. Still, he does his best to break up fights, even though the practice has earned him a few bumps and bruises in the past.

Abuse is a fact of life for the Tainted, and one Kyreth has grown to accept; when faced with contempt or even violence, he prefers to either escape the situation or endure until it’s over, often with an apology on his lips. While he plays the role of doormat well, he’s not driven so much by self-preservation, but by concern; he has a sickening fear that taking too much exception to “the everyday hassles of life” will only serve to embolden the more sinister part of him, making him do something he’ll regret. To Kyreth, a few scrapes and bruises from those who spurn his kind aren’t worth losing himself to his own innate savagery and confirming their fears.

Even as mankind rejects him, Kyreth also struggles to find community among his own kind. Although he grew up under the care of a protective Tainted community, he’s grown to become even more uncomfortable around them than he is around other races, feeling utterly alien with his aversion to dishonesty and violence. As such, he ended up in no man’s land, finding no home among the Tainted nor the rest of the world. Deep down, he worries that if he were to live among the Tainted again, as he used to, he’d revert back to his old ways and lose all the progress he’s made. Best not to stay too long.

Above all else, Kyreth just wants to lead an honest, unintrusive life. He’s gentle at heart, if a little guarded, and tries his best to be kind to anyone he meets - sometimes to degrees very much undeserved. It’s an uphill battle, but for Kyreth, every meek smile not returned or kind word answered with scorn is just one more step toward atoning for his ancestors’ sins - and his own.

Bio

The beginning of Kyreth’s story is not unique, at least among the Tainted.
Left on the doorstep of a Tainted orphanage in the Dregs of Buscon, he was just one of many helpless, crying babies disposed of the moment they opened their pupil-less eyes.

Although the world is a cold and dangerous place for the Tainted, for a blessing the Dregs were somewhat of a haven; with blades drawn and teeth bared to the rest of the world, the Tainted of Buscon fiercely looked after their own, and as such the many orphans of Urchin’s Run grew up with something of a family all around them. Tainted children were more or less welcome just about everywhere in the Dregs, and given guidance and leniency not afforded to outsiders. It was common for those in the community with a little to spare to kick some to the orphans, either in donations to the oft-crowded Dragon’s Clutch orphanage (originally named “Aziaza’s Refuge”, which understandably didn’t stick) or directly to the children themselves, who would often use their spoils to practice the bartering and swindling skills they picked up from their elders.

Things worked surprisingly smoothly. With outsiders generally wary of the Dregs, the insular Buscon Tainted managed to avoid much of the vitriol suffered by others of their kind, running an internal society relatively cut off from the rest of the city. Any outsiders naive enough to wander in usually regretted their time there, falling victim to pickpocketing and cheating at best, or violence at worst. Although conflict between Tainted often crackled, most fights were swiftly ended by bystanders and perpetrators ostracized for disturbing the peace; outsiders, however, were fair game.

And so it went. To Kyreth, it was normal; outsiders hated them, so any foolish enough to intrude on their one sanctuary got what was coming to them. Children were protected, but not coddled; Kyreth and every other child was expected to earn his own way and keep his head on a swivel; “You’ll need that skill one day,” as his elders always said. So, from the moment he was old enough to hold a broom, Kyreth worked; sweeping up taverns, running errands for brothel ladies, playing the innocent accomplice to swindlers - every job, no matter how dingy or underhanded, was worth the room and board it earned him.

But that didn’t mean he liked it. Kyreth was used to the harsh life of the Dregs, but he wasn’t well suited for it; in an uneasy peace maintained through necessity and a hierarchy of might, the skinny, small-horned boy fell squarely at the bottom of the totem pole. Averse to conflict and bad at it besides, Kyreth was easily pushed around by his peers and ordered hither and yon by his elders, with little capability or option to refuse. He made a habit of shrinking into corners when brawls broke out - and there were many - and always flinched at the blows and insults thrown around, no matter how many times he’d seen or heard them. The crass stories of tricking, cheating and beating outsiders that everyone else seemed to enjoy disturbed him, and even as he grew up and his peers grew into their underground society, the underhanded ways of the Dregs never stopped making Kyreth… uncomfortable.

Maybe that was why, despite his community’s tense closeness, Kyreth never really felt like one of them. In a pack of wolves, it seemed he was the runt, never strong or bold enough to bare his teeth like the others did, and shying away from the fervor of their voices when they howled. Though he’d never voice it, he could see why outsiders feared the Tainted; they thought his kind were traitors, devils, and worse - and after all he’d seen, who could blame them? The Dregs weren’t entirely bereft of kindness, but it was never offered to outsiders, who were ironically decried for their intolerance as the Tainted refused to tolerate them.

And that wasn’t even to mention Kyreth’s own sins. They started when he was young, too young to realize they even involved him, but whenever he got scared, or frustrated, or angry… accidents happened. Most of the time, it was just a bit of singed hair or a scorched hem after a particularly vexing scuffle with bigger kids, a leaping candle flame when a tavern patron said something particularly crass, but sometimes they were worse. Once, he set an outsider’s pantleg on fire by accident when the man tried to kick him out of the way, cursing at the “damn devils” in his path. Kyreth had heard the stories of the Tainted, how they were a cursed, fallen race, punished by Aziaza Herself for their alliance with the dragons - to him, it only made sense that his little “accidents” were a result of that unholy union. Why else would fires leap to life when he got angry, if not for some ancient draconic curse?

So he clung to the shadows, and did his best to contain the devil that seemed to dwell inside him. But when his whole world was a slum beset by crime and conflict, how could he possibly avoid feeding his sinister side? Avoiding confrontation was a delicate dance all on its own, let alone prying himself out of underground jobs he’d done for ages without protest. As time went on and keeping his darker side in check grew more and more demanding, Kyreth had no choice: he had to separate himself from the moral depravity of the Dregs and remove the temptation. No, it wasn’t just the Dregs - he had to get out of Buscon altogether, go somewhere new where he could get away from his dishonest life and start again.

So he did. As soon as winter ended in his eighteenth year, Kyreth gathered what few belongings he had and abruptly left, offering no explanation. Knowing only life in the bowels of Buscon, he laid eyes on what lay beyond the city walls for the first time and ventured out in search of something better.

That was the idea, anyway. In reality, it was a miserable endeavor; if it wasn’t hunger and cold snapping at his heels, it was other travelers throwing stones as he passed, or shops and villages chasing him away. More than once he found himself on the receiving end of violent thugs airing their grievances, and he could count on his fingers the number of nights he managed to spend under a roof. But, despite more than once yearning to return to the Dregs and put his lofty ideals behind him, Kyreth persevered, continuing his trek down the coast to Straithmoor. After all, those people were just scared - and Kyreth couldn’t blame them.

Straithmoor welcomed him as much as any other settlement along the way: with curses, stones and pitchforks. But as he searched on the edge of town for a good place to camp, Kyreth found something he didn’t expect: a tiny old woman mending a fence, calling out for him to help her. He didn’t believe it at first, thinking she must have meant to call for someone else, but there was nobody; it was just him, her, and a vast empty field. When he drew closer, he saw her cloudy grey eyes and for a second, thought she was another Tainted in disguise, living impossibly among this harsh and hostile town. But he was wrong - she was simply blind. No wonder she called out to him, she couldn’t see what he was.

Kyreth thought about outing himself to her - it would feel dishonest to lend a hand to someone who might not otherwise want it if they knew what he was - but decided to hold his tongue. After all, if she chased him off, her fence would stay broken, and that didn’t seem to be much help. Resolving to confess after his work was done, he followed her summons and helped her patch the fence. But just as he was about to inform her and take his leave, the woman asked another favour of him. Then another. And another. And more and more until he’d been sleeping in her shed and eating her food for two months in exchange for whatever help he could provide.

Food and board weren’t all she provided, either. She also provided company, companionship the likes of which Kyreth had never known before. He chalked it up to a lonely old woman wanting someone to talk to, but the reason didn’t really matter to him; he drank up every word, every second like a castaway finding fresh water. She told him stories about her late husband, the dedicated rancher; her sons, the fishermen, all dead now; and most importantly, she told him about Selene, lady of the moon and deliverer of the downtrodden.

Selene’s message touched Kyreth to the very core. The only god he knew much about before was Aziaza, who cast down the treacherous Illarin and would probably add every Tainted to her throne of bones upon their deaths - understandably, not an encouraging tale. But until now, Selene was unknown to him, and her mission of succor to the poor and suffering was the first glimpse of hope beyond death that Kyreth had ever seen. He latched on immediately, and became an adamant follower as soon as Berta taught him how. Impressed with his enthusiasm, she even gifted him the crescent hanging in her doorway, insisting that he needed the protection from bad luck more than she did.

Those two months were a dream come true for Kyreth, but sooner or later, everyone must wake. And Kyreth did wake; abruptly and violently. Having got it into his head that he would do something nice for Berta, he went into Straithmoor proper with some proceeds from her farm, hoping to trade them for a chunk of good swordfish - Berta’s favourite. But while the fishmonger took his payment, he wouldn’t hand over the fish. Instead, he laughed in Kyreth’s face, scoffing over the idea of trading with a devil.

Normally, the insult wouldn’t bother Kyreth, and he’d cut his losses and go away. But those were Berta’s wares the fishmonger had stolen, and Kyreth couldn’t tolerate that. As hard as he tried to contain himself, his temper flared - and so did a flame, catching the fishmonger’s stall alight and reducing it and his catch to ash. In an instant, the fishmonger and many of the passerby were on Kyreth, and it was all he could do to escape the town in one piece. He couldn’t go back to Berta’s house, fearing for her safety as well as his own, so he ran until his legs could no longer carry him and the shouts and torches faded into the night.

And that was it. A perfect dream, ruined in an instant. Kyreth was distraught, more convinced than ever that he harboured an evil that needed to be contained. But he still had to eat, and the winter cold was fast approaching, so he made for the road again. Apparently some establishment called a “Bounty House” had just opened in Finnagund, far away from anyone who knew who he was or what he’d done.

Likes

• Working - legitimately earning his keep gives him more satisfaction than anything else in the world.
• Helping people when he can
• Full moon nights - they make him feel like Selene is watching over him.
• Fish, almost any way

Dislikes

• Fire - accidents always seem to happen whenever he’s around it.
• Deceit - or anything dishonest, shady, or generally off the straight and narrow.
• Conflict
• Temples - despite his faith in Selene, he always feels like an intruder on holy ground.
• Meat, unless dried - there’s just something uneasy about eating something with blood.

Habits

• Looking over his shoulder
• Apologizing
• Checking his belongings
• Grabbing the back of his neck
• Hiding his teeth (for example, trying not to smile too wide)
• Clutching his Selene pendant when nervous

Inventory

Kyreth doesn’t have much, but he does make sure to carry:

• 12 copper
• A weathered, waist-length cloak with a large hood, fashioned from one piece of canvas. He’s had it since he was small enough for it to fall to his knees.
• A sturdy needle and a spool of strong linen thread
• An old single-edged knife, sharpened so many times that the blade has grown narrow
• A sharpening stone
• A large water skin
• An oilcloth bundle of cheap traveling food, like dried meat or fish skins
• A heavy, palm-sized Crescent of Selene, crudely fashioned from iron and worn under his tunic on a leather cord. This is without a doubt his most treasured possession.

Other

• Kyreth prefers to cover his horns with a hat if he can find one; he fears that walking around hooded all the time makes him look suspicious. Sadly, his only hat recently got destroyed in a Mishap, so it’s back to hoods for now.
• Like most Tainted, Kyreth’s tail is very reactive to his emotions, so it can be difficult to conceal wrapped around his waist. As such, he prefers to keep his cloak on whenever possible.
• Growing up in gambling houses got Kyreth pretty good at Buscon’s most popular games of chance - and especially good at cheating. However, he renounced that practice years ago in pursuit of leading a more honest life.
• At RP start, Kyreth has a shadowy mark on the left side of his face, which is the remnant of a nearly-healed bruise from his escape from Straithmoor.

Obscene's Scratchpad

“I don’t want any trouble.”

Male | 18 | 5’11” | 140lbs

Name

Kyreth

Appearance

Kyreth is fairly tall and slim, with a wiry, sinewy build honed from a lifetime of odd jobs and limited food. His stark white hair is short and choppy, lying every which way even as he tries to brush it back, and the only “style” to speak of is the inconsistent lines of a haircut obviously done with a knife. His dark complexion hides the oft-present shadows under his eyes, and a tight-lipped nervous frown conceals a mouthful of sharp teeth.

Aside from his dark grey complexion and his speckling of white freckles, the first things people usually notice about Kyreth are his eyes; entirely white and pupil-less, they’re a dead giveaway of his Tainted blood, even if his horns and tail are covered. His horns are quite short and curl tightly over his head, making them mercifully easy to cover up. His tail is quite skinny as Tainted go, and long enough for the end to lay on the ground - if it ever decided to lay still, that is. It tapers smoothly to a point resembling half an arrowhead.

In an effort to make traveling a little easier, Kyreth hides his Tainted features to the best of his ability, concealing his horns with his hood and hiding his tail under his tunic, wrapped tightly around his waist. With his pointed ears, from a distance he can almost pass for a dark-skinned Elf, although the charade usually fails once anyone comes close enough to notice the distinct lack of pupils in his eyes.

Classification

Primordial - Fire

Abnormality

Kyreth has a spattering of white freckles on his face and body, concentrated around his cheekbones (especially the outer corners of his eyes) and the tips of his horns and tail. These freckles, along with his eyes, glow dimly in the dark.

Personality

Kyreth is non-confrontational to the bone. Fairly meek and lacking much confidence, he’ll take a lot in stride if it means avoiding a fight. In a group, he’s liable to try and play the mediator, but equally likely to get steamrolled if the parties aren’t convinced by his soft tone and shrinking presence. Still, he does his best to break up fights, even though the practice has earned him a few bumps and bruises in the past.

Abuse is a fact of life for the Tainted, and one Kyreth has grown to accept; when faced with contempt or even violence, he prefers to either escape the situation or endure until it’s over, often with an apology on his lips. While he plays the role of doormat well, he’s not driven so much by self-preservation, but by concern; he has a sickening fear that taking too much exception to “the everyday hassles of life” will only serve to embolden the more sinister part of him, making him do something he’ll regret. To Kyreth, a few scrapes and bruises from those who spurn his kind aren’t worth losing himself to his own innate savagery and confirming their fears.

Even as mankind rejects him, Kyreth also struggles to find community among his own kind. Although he grew up under the care of a protective Tainted community, he’s grown to become even more uncomfortable around them than he is around other races, feeling utterly alien with his aversion to dishonesty and violence. As such, he ended up in no man’s land, finding no home among the Tainted nor the rest of the world. Deep down, he worries that if he were to live among the Tainted again, as he used to, he’d revert back to his old ways and lose all the progress he’s made. Best not to stay too long.

Above all else, Kyreth just wants to lead an honest, unintrusive life. He’s gentle at heart, if a little guarded, and tries his best to be kind to anyone he meets - sometimes to degrees very much undeserved. It’s an uphill battle, but for Kyreth, every meek smile not returned or kind word answered with scorn is just one more step toward atoning for his ancestors’ sins - and his own.

Bio

The beginning of Kyreth’s story is not unique, at least among the Tainted.
Left on the doorstep of a Tainted orphanage in the Dregs of Buscon, he was just one of many helpless, crying babies disposed of the moment they opened their pupil-less eyes.

Although the world is a cold and dangerous place for the Tainted, for a blessing the Dregs were somewhat of a haven; with blades drawn and teeth bared to the rest of the world, the Tainted of Buscon fiercely looked after their own, and as such the many orphans of Urchin’s Run grew up with something of a family all around them. Tainted children were more or less welcome just about everywhere in the Dregs, and given guidance and leniency not afforded to outsiders. It was common for those in the community with a little to spare to kick some to the orphans, either in donations to the oft-crowded Dragon’s Clutch orphanage (originally named “Aziaza’s Refuge”, which understandably didn’t stick) or directly to the children themselves, who would often use their spoils to practice the bartering and swindling skills they picked up from their elders.

Things worked surprisingly smoothly. With outsiders generally wary of the Dregs, the insular Buscon Tainted managed to avoid much of the vitriol suffered by others of their kind, running an internal society relatively cut off from the rest of the city. Any outsiders naive enough to wander in usually regretted their time there, falling victim to pickpocketing and cheating at best, or violence at worst. Although conflict between Tainted often crackled, most fights were swiftly ended by bystanders and perpetrators ostracized for disturbing the peace; outsiders, however, were fair game.

And so it went. To Kyreth, it was normal; outsiders hated them, so any foolish enough to intrude on their one sanctuary got what was coming to them. Children were protected, but not coddled; Kyreth and every other child was expected to earn his own way and keep his head on a swivel; “You’ll need that skill one day,” as his elders always said. So, from the moment he was old enough to hold a broom, Kyreth worked; sweeping up taverns, running errands for brothel ladies, playing the innocent accomplice to swindlers - every job, no matter how dingy or underhanded, was worth the room and board it earned him.

But that didn’t mean he liked it. Kyreth was used to the harsh life of the Dregs, but he wasn’t well suited for it; in an uneasy peace maintained through necessity and a hierarchy of might, the skinny, small-horned boy fell squarely at the bottom of the totem pole. Averse to conflict and bad at it besides, Kyreth was easily pushed around by his peers and ordered hither and yon by his elders, with little capability or option to refuse. He made a habit of shrinking into corners when brawls broke out - and there were many - and always flinched at the blows and insults thrown around, no matter how many times he’d seen or heard them. The crass stories of tricking, cheating and beating outsiders that everyone else seemed to enjoy disturbed him, and even as he grew up and his peers grew into their underground society, the underhanded ways of the Dregs never stopped making Kyreth… uncomfortable.

Maybe that was why, despite his community’s tense closeness, Kyreth never really felt like one of them. In a pack of wolves, it seemed he was the runt, never strong or bold enough to bare his teeth like the others did, and shying away from the fervor of their voices when they howled. Though he’d never voice it, he could see why outsiders feared the Tainted; they thought his kind were traitors, devils, and worse - and after all he’d seen, who could blame them? The Dregs weren’t entirely bereft of kindness, but it was never offered to outsiders, who were ironically decried for their intolerance as the Tainted refused to tolerate them.

And that wasn’t even to mention Kyreth’s own sins. They started when he was young, too young to realize they even involved him, but whenever he got scared, or frustrated, or angry… accidents happened. Most of the time, it was just a bit of singed hair or a scorched hem after a particularly vexing scuffle with bigger kids, a leaping candle flame when a tavern patron said something particularly crass, but sometimes they were worse. Once, he set an outsider’s pantleg on fire by accident when the man tried to kick him out of the way, cursing at the “damn devils” in his path. Kyreth had heard the stories of the Tainted, how they were a cursed, fallen race, punished by Aziaza Herself for their alliance with the dragons - to him, it only made sense that his little “accidents” were a result of that unholy union. Why else would fires leap to life when he got angry, if not for some ancient draconic curse?

So he clung to the shadows, and did his best to contain the devil that seemed to dwell inside him. But when his whole world was a slum beset by crime and conflict, how could he possibly avoid feeding his sinister side? Avoiding confrontation was a delicate dance all on its own, let alone prying himself out of underground jobs he’d done for ages without protest. As time went on and keeping his darker side in check grew more and more demanding, Kyreth had no choice: he had to separate himself from the moral depravity of the Dregs and remove the temptation. No, it wasn’t just the Dregs - he had to get out of Buscon altogether, go somewhere new where he could get away from his dishonest life and start again.

So he did. As soon as winter ended in his eighteenth year, Kyreth gathered what few belongings he had and abruptly left, offering no explanation. Knowing only life in the bowels of Buscon, he laid eyes on what lay beyond the city walls for the first time and ventured out in search of something better.

That was the idea, anyway. In reality, it was a miserable endeavor; if it wasn’t hunger and cold snapping at his heels, it was other travelers throwing stones as he passed, or shops and villages chasing him away. More than once he found himself on the receiving end of violent thugs airing their grievances, and he could count on his fingers the number of nights he managed to spend under a roof. But, despite more than once yearning to return to the Dregs and put his lofty ideals behind him, Kyreth persevered, continuing his trek down the coast to Straithmoor. After all, those people were just scared - and Kyreth couldn’t blame them.

Straithmoor welcomed him as much as any other settlement along the way: with curses, stones and pitchforks. But as he searched on the edge of town for a good place to camp, Kyreth found something he didn’t expect: a tiny old woman mending a fence, calling out for him to help her. He didn’t believe it at first, thinking she must have meant to call for someone else, but there was nobody; it was just him, her, and a vast empty field. When he drew closer, he saw her cloudy grey eyes and for a second, thought she was another Tainted in disguise, living impossibly among this harsh and hostile town. But he was wrong - she was simply blind. No wonder she called out to him, she couldn’t see what he was.

Kyreth thought about outing himself to her - it would feel dishonest to lend a hand to someone who might not otherwise want it if they knew what he was - but decided to hold his tongue. After all, if she chased him off, her fence would stay broken, and that didn’t seem to be much help. Resolving to confess after his work was done, he followed her summons and helped her patch the fence. But just as he was about to inform her and take his leave, the woman asked another favour of him. Then another. And another. And more and more until he’d been sleeping in her shed and eating her food for two months in exchange for whatever help he could provide.

Food and board weren’t all she provided, either. She also provided company, companionship the likes of which Kyreth had never known before. He chalked it up to a lonely old woman wanting someone to talk to, but the reason didn’t really matter to him; he drank up every word, every second like a castaway finding fresh water. She told him stories about her late husband, the dedicated rancher; her sons, the fishermen, all dead now; and most importantly, she told him about Selene, lady of the moon and deliverer of the downtrodden.

Selene’s message touched Kyreth to the very core. The only god he knew much about before was Aziaza, who cast down the treacherous Illarin and would probably add every Tainted to her throne of bones upon their deaths - understandably, not an encouraging tale. But until now, Selene was unknown to him, and her mission of succor to the poor and suffering was the first glimpse of hope beyond death that Kyreth had ever seen. He latched on immediately, and became an adamant follower as soon as Berta taught him how. Impressed with his enthusiasm, she even gifted him the crescent hanging in her doorway, insisting that he needed the protection from bad luck more than she did.

Those two months were a dream come true for Kyreth, but sooner or later, everyone must wake. And Kyreth did wake; abruptly and violently. Having got it into his head that he would do something nice for Berta, he went into Straithmoor proper with some proceeds from her farm, hoping to trade them for a chunk of good swordfish - Berta’s favourite. But while the fishmonger took his payment, he wouldn’t hand over the fish. Instead, he laughed in Kyreth’s face, scoffing over the idea of trading with a devil.

Normally, the insult wouldn’t bother Kyreth, and he’d cut his losses and go away. But those were Berta’s wares the fishmonger had stolen, and Kyreth couldn’t tolerate that. As hard as he tried to contain himself, his temper flared - and so did a flame, catching the fishmonger’s stall alight and reducing it and his catch to ash. In an instant, the fishmonger and many of the passerby were on Kyreth, and it was all he could do to escape the town in one piece. He couldn’t go back to Berta’s house, fearing for her safety as well as his own, so he ran until his legs could no longer carry him and the shouts and torches faded into the night.

And that was it. A perfect dream, ruined in an instant. Kyreth was distraught, more convinced than ever that he harboured an evil that needed to be contained. But he still had to eat, and the winter cold was fast approaching, so he made for the road again. Apparently some establishment called a “Bounty House” had just opened in Finnagund, far away from anyone who knew who he was or what he’d done.

Likes

• Working - legitimately earning his keep gives him more satisfaction than anything else in the world.
• Helping people when he can
• Full moon nights - they make him feel like Selene is watching over him.
• Fish, almost any way

Dislikes

• Fire - accidents always seem to happen whenever he’s around it.
• Deceit - or anything dishonest, shady, or generally off the straight and narrow.
• Conflict
• Temples - despite his faith in Selene, he always feels like an intruder on holy ground.
• Meat, unless dried - there’s just something uneasy about eating something with blood.

Habits

• Looking over his shoulder
• Apologizing
• Checking his belongings
• Grabbing the back of his neck
• Hiding his teeth (for example, trying not to smile too wide)
• Clutching his Selene pendant when nervous

Inventory

Kyreth doesn’t have much, but he does make sure to carry:

• A weathered, waist-length cloak with a large hood, fashioned from one piece of canvas. He’s had it since he was small enough for it to fall to his knees.
• A sturdy needle and a spool of strong linen thread
• An old single-edged knife, sharpened so many times that the blade has grown narrow
• A sharpening stone
• A large water skin
• An oilcloth bundle of cheap traveling food, like dried meat or fish skins
• A heavy, palm-sized Crescent of Selene, crudely fashioned from iron and worn under his tunic on a leather cord. This is without a doubt his most treasured possession.

Other

• Kyreth prefers to cover his horns with a hat if he can find one; he fears that walking around hooded all the time makes him look suspicious. Sadly, his only hat recently got destroyed in a Mishap, so it’s back to hoods for now.
• Like most Tainted, Kyreth’s tail is very reactive to his emotions, so it can be difficult to conceal wrapped around his waist. As such, he prefers to keep his cloak on whenever possible.
• Growing up in gambling houses got Kyreth pretty good at Buscon’s most popular games of chance - and especially good at cheating. However, he renounced that practice years ago in pursuit of leading a more honest life.

Obscene's Scratchpad

joey thing ideas
name: Kyreth (maybe goes by Kyr/Kyrin?)
race: Tainted who tries and fails to pose as an elf
age: 18-19

pics

HAT

Born in some city centre to some cheating bitch who got rid of him asap (possibly a bastard of some then-unmarried rich/noble woman?)

Grew up in orphanage until he was old enough to start working for food/lodging (~7) (has no surname)

Worked in various taverns/brothels/drug dens doing menial tasks (clearing dishes, other chores) for food, had some minor fire accidents, not understanding why

Also got roped into all sorts of untoward schemes because he was hungry and kids are great for staging thefts

Wasn't taught much about his heritage, just that Tainted are supposedly cursed demonic traitors and that a lot of the Tainted he grew up around seemed to embrace that stereotype

Kyreth wasn't cut out for that kind of life, he didn't want to take advantage of people, didn't like the cutthroat lifestyle, just wanted to make an honest living (but there's nobody honest in Urchin's Run or the Reprieve and honest folk outside of Buscon don't hire Tainted)

Eventually went to Straithmoor, struggled to find work but ended up with a steady setup doing odd jobs for a blind old lady who befriended him and introduced him to Selene

Taken by the first truly kind soul he'd ever really met and receptive to the message of deliverance for the downtrodden, the faith became a lifeline for him. The old lady gifted him a crude iron crescent that he treasures and keeps around his neck on a leather cord at all times.

Eventually causes another accident (setting the neighbour's thatch roof on fire?) and is run out of Straithmoor, now he has to find work elsewhere and he's heartbroken about having to leave his gentle old friend



Took a walk to the summit at night
To burn a hole in the old grip of the familiar
And the dark was opening wide
Do or die

TEST TEST

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_@Achronum

Jorah was about as excited for another unit meeting as one could expect, and right off the bat things seemed about as optimistic as their meeting in the Cathedral just days prior. Ooooo, maybe someone from the Rose Unit itself went missing this time? From a cursory glance, no one he personally knew was missing, so if that was the case it couldn’t have been anyone too important. Surely then all this grief could wait until the morning?

Okay, maybe that was a little rough.

Ugh, but who cared?? Jorah just wanted to go back to his dorm and finish the sleep he started just before sunrise, not sit through another hour of professors prattling on dourly about this or that tragic occurrence in or around the esteemed walls of Garreg Mach. He didn’t need another afternoon of swimming through the worries of every other student at the Officers’ Academy. Couldn’t he just sit this one out? Come on, even Clarissa seemed a little put off by the as-yet-unannounced meeting, but unfortunately her presence despite the annoyance was as much a guarantee as anything that like it or not, Jorah probably wasn’t escaping anytime soon. Dammit.

Lysander didn’t help the general unease of the students with his weird, vaguely threatening introduction, but honestly, the vague threat of injury would probably have been preferable to what the two of them launched into next. The moment that chalkboard flipped over, Jorah felt his blood run cold - but not from his own doing. He didn’t need to look over to know the source. He knew that vicarious feeling well, and he knew exactly what spurred it on. The feeling hurt his heart, and not just vicariously; It’d been years since he’d felt it so potently, but it had never quite gone away, either. So, while the rest of the Deer might have been shocked to see Clarissa bolt out of the room at the mention of Crests, Jorah was just sad and unfazed.

He turned in his seat to follow, but thought better of it when Clarissa slipped out the door; the last thing she’d want, of all people, would be to cause a scene. The very act of leaving was already way beyond the pale for her, and Jorah knew it wouldn’t do any good to go running after her and draw even more attention. Instead, he did his best to act cool - easy enough for him, fortunately - so as not to alarm the other Deer. That was what House Leaders did, right? Set an example? Clarissa seemed to think so.

Still, it was lucky he was a good actor, because he was seething just as harshly as Clarissa was. Whose bloody idea was it to announce to the entire unit that every single member had a Crest? Goddess above, Lysander sounded like his father, acting like a Crest was the be-all end-all of divine endowments, something nobody could ever in their right mind come to resent or regret. Surely nobody would ever hide their Crest. Oh no, no no. Crest-bearing babies were blessed by the Goddess, bound for greatness - whether they liked it or not.

Jorah fought not to roll his eyes. Was it any wonder he and his father could never see eye-to-eye on this? What a ridiculous notion. Admittedly his own Crest had never caused him the same anguish as Clarissa’s had, but he could still see why the topic might be a sore one even without a Crest as infamous as the Crest of the Beast. But if the Monastery knew of Clarissa’s Crest, wouldn’t they know which one it was as well? Jorah would have thought they’d have a bit of tact given that Crest’s particular history, but apparently the highest seat of religious power in all of Fódlan was too high on their own incense to consider anything so droll as common courtesy.

At least Professor Tomai didn’t seem to be breathing the fumes as deeply as Lysander was. Clarissa was at the forefront of his mind, but Jorah still caught some pieces about the nature of Crests and how they could be controlled. His own Crest surely fell into the category of “passive,” given he could hardly conceive of what life might be like if he could “turn off” the ability to feel the emotions of those around him, and didn’t even realize it was abnormal until he was well into his childhood. Though, was it so clear? He couldn’t get rid of the feelings, that was certain; but the other side of his Crest, the one that allowed him to coax people to his side of an argument, seemed at least somewhat voluntary. Or, if it wasn’t, then it was weak enough that for most people it must not matter. He would concede that it would be interesting to learn more about his Crest and how it might be controlled, but that didn’t make him any less pissed over how clumsily the topic was handled.

To Jorah’s surprise, Clarissa returned. He really wouldn’t have blamed her for taking off back to her dorm or the cathedral, but he was happy that she found the courage to come back inside. She wasn’t fully better, but the worst of her turmoil seemed to have burned off; as fine a first step as any. She pressed a little closer when she sat back down, and Jorah returned the gesture with a friendly nudge of the shoulder, happy to let Clarissa lean on him if she needed to. Hopefully this wouldn’t be too much of a setback. As sad as it made him to think about it, the two of them might not have another several years left together to pull Clarissa through her pain all over again.

For once, the other students didn’t draw out the lecture with stupid questions, and soon enough they were all released from this farce of a class. Jorah gave Clarissa another nudge, offering a sympathetic smile. Well, he’d gotten her through once; by now, he was basically an expert.

“Needed the privy that bad, huh?” he teased, voice low enough that only she would hear, “I told you not to eat the fish today.”

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Scribe of Thoth}

Lienna gave Lysander a flat look. She wasn’t sure what a “social experiment” was, but she didn’t like the sound of it. Lucky for the skinny nerd, Professor Tomai came in with a slightly more acceptable answer. So he was worried they’d accidentally hurt each other, was it? Lienna would have thought that’d be all the more reason to keep the nurse lady around, but if this was the wisdom of the monastery then she supposed her protests would fall on deaf ears. They were probably in more danger during combat training anyway, considering Kellen’s aim.

Meanwhile, Derec still looked like he saw a ghost, and asked whether he could opt out of the new class. Honestly, she wasn’t sure what he was so afraid of; so he was gold digging, so what? He might personally be an idiot, but not even Lienna could fault him for that. But she was curious what exactly he used his Crest for. For all she knew, he was marrying into a noble family too, or being adopted by one. She and Derec might end up cousins by marriage or something, knowing her luck. Or maybe he was trying to become a Knight of Seiros; that'd suit his sanctimonious attitude. More than anything, she was surprised nobody figured it out sooner, herself included. After all, how else does a peasant get into Garreg Mach?

With that, the class was dismissed, and Derec was quick to flee into Professor Michail’s arms. There’d probably be some irony to it if she cared to think about it, but she didn’t. Lienna was still surprised about Clarissa’s reaction; she hadn’t known the girl long - or really even spoken to her much, come to think of it - but she always seemed so calm and assured, it was odd to see her so shaken. Lienna would have thought she’d keep her composure in the face of ruin if only to avoid being called crass.

She smirked. Maybe Crests were just a sore topic for redheads.

Not that Lienna herself was one to talk, what with her own little peculiarity still left to be figured out, but surprisingly, it didn’t trouble her too much. Professor Tomai’s broken machine was more his problem than hers so long as she avoided any more Crest checks. If they were just practicing, it shouldn’t be an issue. Probably.

She glanced up when Auberon started talking, unsurprised at his comments. Once more, his nobility was showing. She shrugged boredly. “Not necessarily. Back home people thought Crests were more a curse than a blessing; if you had one, you kept it to yourself.” She crossed her arms. “Maybe he’s from somewhere similar. Judging by that hair I wouldn’t be surprised if he was another Gautier brat.”

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_@Hero

Lienna was exhausted out of reflex when the order came down to gather in the Black Eagles’ classroom at the end of the day. It wasn’t like she had anything else planned – much like many of her classmates, she’d been spending the bulk of her time since the announcement yesterday tucked safely away in her room – but it was hard to appreciate the protection of a few more bodies when it came at the end of a tiring day wading through dusty old tomes and strategy lectures.

Ugh. The least they could have done was give them some kind of training exercise; at least then she could have channeled her focus into magic instead of flitting back and back and back again to the news. As if she didn’t see enough shapes in the shadows already. Now she had to keep her head on a swivel once again. Wouldn’t be so much of a big deal back home, but after convincing herself those days were over, taking up the old torch was more exhausting than it would have been to never lay it down in the first place.

She filed in with the other Lions, taking her seat among them, although her gaze ended up somewhere off in space. Professor Tomai did catch her eye for a moment, and she was reminded how close she’d come to asking him to write a letter to Francis in her stead and get her out of here. Considering he’d yet to make good on his promise of an update on the Hanneman machine’s progress, she figured she probably made the right choice sitting tight. Tomai didn’t seem cruel, but he didn’t seem like the type to let his “ever faithful guinea pig” scuttle away over rumours either.

Lysander (she’d already forgotten his last name) opened the meeting just as dully as every other that day, but Lienna didn’t miss that veiled confession about Professor Simeon. Why on earth would he think a lecture – a lecture he was conducting – would result in injuries? And why couldn’t they use a proper healer if so?

Lienna’s hand went to a lump under her sash, where her grandmother’s needle box was tucked safely away. She didn’t know what the skinny runt was playing at, but she wasn’t planning on being poked, prodded or anything of the sort. Not that a little box of bone needles and thread would do her much good, but if it came down to it, she did have a much more powerful weapon at her fingertips; there’d be some collateral damage, but in a space this small she was pretty confident she could skewer Lysander with ice before he got the chance to try anything funny.

The thought relaxed her enough to let her hand fall, and she turned her attention back to the strange little professor in time for him to reveal that the students in the Rose unit had all been chosen for their Crests. Hm. Lienna wasn’t as surprised as the others; honestly, with a school crawling with highborns, she’d expected most students would have them. Any peasant like her who got in must have; she figured the only ones without would have been distant noble children never set to inherit anything anyway, coming to Garreg Mach to learn to command armies or whatever nobles had their children do. Come to think of it, that was the box she’d put Kellen into; she was a little surprised about him.

What didn’t surprise her at all, though, was Derec and his terrified thousand-yard stare. After all that bravado about trusting people and letting them have your back, he was in the same boat as she was. Some noble somewhere in his family line wormed a crest into some peasant woman, and now here he was, a diamond in the rough taking the opportunity for all it was worth. She’d almost respect him for it if he wasn’t so saints-damned sanctimonious about it. Where was he from, anyway? With that hair she’d swear he was a Gautier loose end just like her.

The rest of the lecture would have captured her attention if it wasn’t all stuff she’d heard before. But now that it was in front of her again, she thought back to a problem she’d discussed with Tomai in private: what about Crests that don’t grant special powers? Tomai was convinced that every Crestbearer had some kind of beneficial power conferred on them by their Crest, but that sometimes it was just unknown or difficult to discern. Even so, Lienna had trouble believing she had any special power. Such a thing would have come in pretty handy as a kid, so wouldn’t whatever it was have “activated” then? Maybe she had one of those bullshit “ungoverned” powers that only came out when it felt like it, and none of her prior troubles apparently made the cut. She supposed she’d find out if her dreams started predicting the future instead of replaying the past.

She raised her hand anyway, but this time, her question was directed at both professors. “So if this is about Crests, then what's with Lysander’s comment about getting injured? Did you round us up to research us or something?” The look on her face said it all; she wasn’t a fan of the idea, and Lysander had another asshole coming if he thought he was going to get one hair out of her without a fight.

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona

_{April 13th}

---

Pushing through the mirror, Emi gasped as the familiar sensation of change enveloped her; her uniform, once trim and neat, fell away into a white empire dress that floated around her, and all over her skin, unseen by her but announcing their presence all the same, crawled vibrant tattoos of lotus blossoms, moving subtly as if in a breeze. The air was different from the changing room, more still and stifling, and the large room she’d apparently emerged into echoed loudly with the concussive sounds of bouncing balls and thumping feet.

The foreboding environment didn’t seem to deter her, however, and the first thing she did upon stepping into the Other Side was stretch out her hand, where a card bearing the Moon arcana sparked to life.

“Euryphaessa, on the lookout!”

Emi crushed the card in her palm, and at once a swarm of black-and-white butterflies burst out in a blaze of cyan flames, dispersing like mist into every corner of the space until they were hardly noticeable.

For Emi, the effect was like taking a bag off her head. In an instant, her awareness of her surroundings multiplied exponentially; having previously gauged the size of the room by sound, she now knew its precise boundaries, was acutely aware of its occupants and their exhausted behaviour, noted the balcony and the doorway, and pinpointed each of her companions. But more than that, she could tell the dispositions of their Shadow companions, that there were more rooms beyond the gymnasium they were currently in, and most importantly, that something big and menacing was waiting for them at the end of it all.

The awareness was almost overwhelming, having been away from it for so long, but at the same time it was only now that Emi remembered how completely blind, deaf and numb she was in the real world compared to the Other Side.

It felt fantastic to be back.

Remembering why she was there in the first place, Emi stopped revelling in her reclaimed power and returned her attention to the group. She had missed whatever was said prior as her senses recalibrated, but she did tune in for the very end - including Hinari-kun’s nervous questioning.

“No,” she replied confidently, taking a few more steps into the room. She zeroed her attention on the Shadows running laps, noting their attention was on something other than her companions, but that something dangerous lurked underneath.

“They don’t want to be disturbed. They’ll get hostile if we mess with them, but if we sneak around them and leave them alone, they shouldn’t be a problem.” She glanced back to her companions, now notably better at pinpointing exactly where they were. “There are five rooms in this dungeon; this one, and four more. Something big is waiting for us at the end of it.” She shook her head at Hinari-kun. “There is no outside. The only way out is through.”

Despite the serious tidings, her tone was nothing of the sort; in fact, Emi was genuinely struggling to contain her glee at finally getting inside the mirror again. ‘Feeling’ around the room, as she called it, for any thread of evidence that her friends had been nearby, a shockingly familiar presence practically shouted out to her from the middle of the room. It was really a miracle she’d missed it - she must have been a little out of practice with Euryphaessa’s senses. The discovery made her forget all about the shadows, the dungeon and the foreboding presence at the end of it.

“Mineri..?”

Emi gasped, her Euryphaessa senses confirming it was true. It wasn’t a perfect match - a little fuzzy around the edges, so to speak - but even if she was a little rusty, there was no mistaking the leader of their little band, the one who started it all, and the one who would hopefully lead Emi to the rest of their lost friends.

“Mineri!” she exclaimed again, running up to the girl and pulling her into a hug. The tattoos all over her body rippled, the lotus flowers falling away to be replaced by cherry blossoms. “Oh, I knew you were alive! You sent me those signs and I knew! Are you alright? What happened?? Where is everyone else?!”

---

_{@Scribe of Thoth @Asura @Lord Orgasmo @Hero}

Of Blood and Magic

i'm not sorry

4:45 couldn’t come fast enough, and by the time Aaron stumbled out of his last class of the night, he felt like he’d been dipped in lead, shuffling back to the dining hall in awe of himself. He was no stranger to fatigue, but usually it was either physical or magical, not both! After an already strenuous day on a body that probably wasn’t fit for such rigours after the past few weeks to begin with, his introduction to Shielding and Defusing had successfully taken everything Aaron had left, leaving him wondering if magic itself could get sore after such a workout.

Lurching into an empty chair in the dining hall, Aaron checked his watch, only to let his head fall onto his arm for a moment of much anticipated rest. How would he make it back to the cul-de-sac like this? Lilie told him she’d be ready for him at five, so he only had fifteen minutes to compose himself. It wouldn’t really do to collapse in Count Benjamin’s foyer, even if the Count himself was going to be out for the evening.

Heavy as his limbs were, though, that thought made him light again; he was due for a dinner date in fifteen minutes! He was due for a dinner date in fifteen minutes. What did that even mean? Giddiness turned to nervousness in the space of a heartbeat, the blond face to face with the demoralizing extent of his inexperience. Moon above, his most intimate experience with a girl before Lilie was flirting with the kitchen girls back home, and he sucked at it! But it wasn’t like they’d do anything – or wait, maybe he could steal another kiss while he was there – could he steal a kiss while he was there? – but come on, it couldn’t be that hard, right?

He was going to make a fool of himself.

It was probably smart to just accept that as fact and trust that Lilie wouldn’t hold it against him. She was familiar enough with his trip-ups by now, and surely the whole campus was aware that he was an utter mess under the put-together Starag facade. The most he needed to worry about was keeping Varis in the dark.

The thought sat oddly with Aaron, and he finally lifted his head from the table, crossing his arms. Not that he was a stranger to sneaking around, but to plan it out so intentionally felt... wrong. Dirty. But he tried to push the feeling aside. Like he’d told himself a million times since lunch, this would be the last time. One last goodbye to his sneaky, rebellious ways before turning over a new leaf. Every mage had their secrets – even Malek, surely. The guilt of this memory would only serve to fuel his efforts at reform. Right?

He groaned, remembering something terrible. Like he expected, Varis texted earlier telling him not to show his face around the Sinnenodel dorm until his 6pm curfew, giving him a little over an hour to spend with Lilie. And he fully intended to use every second of that time, but that left Aaron with a rather important job left undone: making his final goodbyes to his family before cutting them off for a year.

A sick feeling gripped his stomach, a newer, deep-seated guilt rising in him like bile. He had to find some way to tell his mother and aunts that he was wilfully cutting them out of his life for a year, and all he could think about all day was a date. Between his classes, lunch, and his return at curfew where he was expected to give his answer, there was no time to communicate anything except, well, right now. But how could he do that? He would have liked at least a few nights to get his affairs in order, figure out what he was going to say, but he didn’t have that luxury. And given the chain of events that led him here, it probably wasn’t one he deserved anyway.

But his family deserved better, even if he didn’t. That was what sucked the most; the ultimate weight of his shortcomings, however personal and unique, always fell on his family. Their reputation. Their name. Was he even fit to bear it anymore?

Aaron pulled out his phone, trying to swallow the painful lump growing in his throat. It was now or never, and his thumb trembled as he dialed his mother’s number.

The phone rang several times, but there was no answer.

He drew a shaky breath before the voicemail kicked in, having to come up with something to say in a matter of seconds before the beep. There was a long, silent moment of hesitation, but he finally spoke, voice strained but firm.

“Hi, mom. Listen, I… I haven’t been representing myself well, and I’m sorry. But I’ve been given a chance to make things right. I won’t be able to talk for a while, but this is something I have to do. I know I haven’t turned out like you hoped I would, but I’m going to do my best to make you proud. To make everyone proud.

Please don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I hope you understand.

I love you. See you next year.”

~ /// ~

By the time he started his walk to the Eve dorm, Aaron still felt heavy. But it was no longer fatigue that weighed down his limbs, but the sad finality of the message he’d left. It seemed so uncouth to say his goodbyes for an entire year with a voicemail, let alone the texts he’d fired off to his aunts for want of time. He started out his journey feeling like the scum of the earth for giving his family so little consideration.

But if he was being honest, there was also a little, guilty feeling of relief that he wasn’t able to talk to any of his relatives. His voicemail was sloppy, it wasn’t really what he wanted, but an actual phone call would have been a mess; his mother probably would have started crying, which would have made him feel even lower than he already did, and it would have been a long and painful ordeal leaving everyone worse off than they started. Yeah, maybe a clean break was better. No need to draw it out, just rip the band-aid off and be done with it.

It sounded selfish, but it made the blond feel a little less like garbage as he rounded the turn toward the noble cul-de-sac. A year wasn’t too long, right? Aaron had already spent four months at the Academy with Varis, and it still felt like his first week. Despite her adjusted workload, his mother was busy, and his aunts even more so, and he was sure he’d personally be up to his neck in anything Varis could throw at him to temper him into a Sinnenodel mage worthy of the name. The months would probably fly by with nary a moment to look up and breathe. It would be over before any of them even knew it.

Besides, they were fine without him. They got on for decades before him, and the castle ran quite smoothly in his absence. It didn’t seem like he left much of a hole behind.

That thought, while melancholy in its own right, calmed his mind enough to put away his regrets as he approached the Eve dorm. There was no sign of Varis in the windows of the Sinnenodel dorm, thankfully, and as he looked Aaron’s eyes wandered to the low stone wall separating their dorms. His gaze lingered there, and he remembered that one beautiful night that Lilie caught him practicing and deigned to sing with him. It almost seemed silly in hindsight – anytime he remembered how awful and shaky his voice must have been trying to harmonize he couldn’t help but cringe – but he wouldn’t have traded the moment for the world, and it warmed his heart to think that he helped encourage her to put her voice to use at the party. That was probably one of the moments that led him to the Eve dorm tonight – that and that beautiful Revel night on the beach that he still pored over when he needed some encouragement.

It was kind of funny how all of his fond memories of Lilie were nights that ended in disaster for him, but he could cut out the good moments like newspaper clippings and keep them while banishing the bad. Besides, with his new arrangement, that probably wouldn’t happen again.

Feeling a little more confident for his daydreaming, Aaron finally mustered up the nerve to mount the stairs and knock on the door, hoping against hope Count Benjamin was gone and wouldn’t see him looking like a lovesick idiot who hadn’t slept in three weeks.

The knock on the door somehow reached Lilie despite the absolute chaos of pots and pans she had going in the kitchen. In hindsight, an hour wasn’t very long at all and the panic settled in once she had stepped into the kitchen. After kicking Ben out of the dorm, Lilie went about her preparations like a madwoman, a symphony of chopping and grumbling and despair as her ambition got the best of her. Granted, nothing seemed to stop her hands except for her constantly checking the time and getting more panicked, but overall she was a little proud of herself.

For some reason, ‘dinner’ turned into ‘dinner and dessert’ and the girl had thrown in something in the oven while she cooked. She didn’t get a chance to ask about preferences nor did she try to measure out Aaron’s tastes, instead aiming for something flavorful. But flavor meant more ingredients and Lilie was up to her elbows in those, too many ideas coming around until she found herself with a full stove.

Once she heard the knock of the door, Lilie wiped her brow and left the kitchen. She stopped at the door, realizing too little too late that she was a mess. She had managed to change from her school clothes into a more comfortable brown-and-beige striped sweater dress and slippers, but she hadn’t touched up her makeup, she was pretty sure her hair was skewed this way and that, and she still had on her frilly apron. But it was too late to run to her room, so instead she settled for hastily running her fingers through her bangs and tightening her ponytail.

Of course, any care about that went away once she opened the door, giving Aaron a smile. “Good evening, Mr. Starag,” She greeted him, deciding to put on a touch of formality for fun. “Won’t you come in?”

Aaron almost panicked when he heard the doorknob turn, but any semblance of negativity melted away when he saw Lilie, dolled up in a sweater dress he really wished she’d wear to class more often and smiling gorgeously up at him.

That cute little greeting brought him instant delight, and he happily played along, humouring Lilie with a polished Starag bow. “Good evening, Miss Dionne. With pleasure,” he replied, his prim tone clashing with the wide smile splitting his face. He stepped in as Lilie beckoned him, and his heart jumped a little when the door closed behind them. They were alone. Together. With nobody anywhere to see. In a Count’s dorm!

Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, Aaron got a lungful of something warm and inviting wafting from the kitchen. “Oh wow, that smells fantastic,” he commented, giving his host a knowing look as he took off his coat. “The cooks in the dining hall really will be jealous.”

Lilie tried to calm her racing heart, realizing that nervousness was mixed in with her excitement. Or was it anticipation? Whatever it was had her face feeling a lot hotter than it should have, her own smile permanently plastered on her face as she took his coat and hung it up. Oh boy, she hoped he couldn’t tell how nervous she was, but even as the thought crossed her mind, once she turned back to face him, it was hard to ignore the beating in her chest.

Tucking some hair behind her ear, she tried not to get too embarrassed at his compliment. Even if she was boasting earlier, suddenly she didn’t want to come off as too show-boaty. She should thank him, right? Or maybe play it off with a joke? Why was it suddenly so hard to come up with something to say?

“Y-Yeah…” She quietly muttered, her hand fiddling with her apron until she remembered she was still cooking. “Oh, um, why don’t you come and see what I’m working on?” She suggested, relieved she had found something to say.

Aaron felt a little weird letting Lilie take his coat, but she was the host. He stepped out of his shoes as she hung it up, only remembering just as Lilie did that cooking wasn’t something you could just step away from to humour a date in the foyer ogling your dress.

“Oh, of course!” he replied, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He tried to laugh it off, and failing that, just extended his arm, adding a quick, “After you.”

Lilie led him to the kitchen, and Aaron stepped lightly, still pretty uneasy about being in another Count’s dorm while the Count himself was out. He was no more comfortable recalling the last – and only – time he’d been in here, on Revel when Count Benjamin first arrived and he had to deliver Lilie home in a… less than optimal state.

Probably for the best the Count wasn’t here tonight.

The whole dorm surprised Aaron by how different it could be from his own while sharing an identical layout, but the kitchen was what shocked him most of all. In sharp contrast to the Sinnenodel kitchen, whose only use was the coffee maker and occasionally the microwave and kept spotless at all times, this kitchen was… wow. It was a mess. Well, that was unfair: Aaron could tell it was probably clean when it wasn’t in use, but he stepped into a kitchen in full swing, counters and stove top covered in pots and pans and implements of all sorts, some of which he wasn’t fully confident he could name. It was warm, busy and smelled fantastic – not surprising so many mages found such comfort in cooking during the wintertime.

“Wow,” Aaron breathed, taking it all in. He stood stiffly at the threshold for a second before realizing this was a date and not a formal dinner and that he could probably follow Lilie fully inside. Come on, all this rigidity was bound to make Lilie uncomfortable! Aaron did his best to shrug it off, even going so far as to lean on the counter – even if he looked a little unnatural doing it.

But it was the cook who deserved his attention, not the kitchen, and Aaron turned to Lilie with eyebrows raised in awe. “You did all this yourself?”

Lilie was a little surprised at Aaron’s surprise—and minorly horrified at how bombastic the kitchen looked. She was usually better at cleaning as she went, but in her hurry everything looked pretty chaotic. There was no hiding her feeble attempt at cleanup as she shoved the cutting board into the sink, though she supposed there was little she could do by this point.

Instead, she nodded in response to his question. Perking up a touch, she figured she would renege on her previous point and try to impress him. “On tonight’s menu, the cook has decided on a roast chicken with lemon, sage, and parsley stuffing,” She informed him, swelling with the tiniest hint of pride. “And for dessert, there will be a salted caramel cupcake! Though it’s, um...not done, that’ll finish once we finish eating.” She got a little bashful, clearing her throat. “But everything else is almost done! I didn’t want to keep you waiting for too long.”

Aaron’s look of shock persisted as Lilie listed off her menu, and the blond realized he’d probably need to re-evaluate his entire understanding of cooking. “Wow,” he repeated, looking around again. She really did all that herself! Moon above, Lilie had a way of shining a light on his sheltered upbringing – he would have assumed it took a whole kitchen staff to make something that impressive-sounding.

“I can’t wait,” he said at last, taken aback by the effort Lilie must have taken to make all of this for him. The poor girl still had her apron on (though it wouldn’t hurt his feelings if that remained throughout the evening – he wouldn’t have thought of frills as “alluring” until tonight, but here he was) and what looked like the equipment of ten cooks was scattered around the kitchen. He obviously didn’t know what went into preparing a meal like this, but he was pretty sure it was far more than his company warranted.

“I hope I didn’t put you out too much,” he apologized, looking sheepish. “I’d offer to help, but I’m not even allowed to cook eggs at home, so it’s probably better if I don’t touch anything.”

Lilie grinned, allowing herself to relax and lean against the counter. Sure, it wasn’t something she did every day, and she had run herself haggard, but it was well within her ability (as she had talked herself out of trying something new for convenience’s sake). “It’s okay, you’re worth it,” She told him, albeit once the words were in the air, the realization hit her as her face flushed red. “I’m used to it. I mean, I did make a bold claim, so I figured, you know, may as well go all out. But it’s no biggie. You know. Just...um, just doing what I do...and…” She trailed off rather pathetically, lowering her gaze to the ground.

Barely even hearing the stuttering afterward, that little “you’re worth it” had Aaron floating on air, his ears burning under his hair. It was comforting that Lilie seemed as unsure as he was, though, and he had to admit – that blush was pretty damn cute. He hesitated for a moment, his usual safeguards ringing in his ear as usual, but pushed them aside: nobody could see them here, and this was supposed to be his last hurrah, so why not go for it?

Before he could change his mind, Aaron reached out and pulled Lilie to him, very happy to have embraced his rebellious side when he caught Lilie’s lips in a kiss. He stayed there for a few seconds, inwardly gaping at his own forwardness and soaking up the moment before releasing her.

“Thank you,” he told her, unable to stop his grin. “I can’t wait to try it.”

The sudden movement surprised her, though every thought, cohesive or otherwise, flew out the window once they kissed. Kissed. Again! Right here! At least her delight managed to push down her nerves, the smallest touch of giddiness hitting her in full once they parted. She was flushed and breathless and happy and a lot more comfortable, though as she looked into his eyes, all she cared about right now was him.

“You’re welcome,” Her words were quiet, but she could only look at him in awe and admiration as she took his hands in hers. “I, um...really hoped we’d get to do that again…”

Aaron was still a little in awe of himself, but if it made Lilie look that happy, he must have been doing something right. Butterflies surged in his stomach, and his ears grew even hotter, making him grateful his cheeks didn’t usually blush. “Me… me too,” he replied haltingly, chuckling at his own nervousness. At least it was much less than before; in fact, they both seemed a lot more at ease now. They could tune you up, calm you down… it was amazing what a kiss could do.

“So, uh… what now?” he asked awkwardly, though he punctuated the question with another laugh, shaking his head at himself. “Can you tell I’ve never done this before?”

Now it was Lilie’s turn to be surprised, her eyebrows shooting up. Didn’t he know how handsome he was? There was no way no one had ever approached him before, right? As she thought about it, however, she understood. “Oh, like...no one’s ever cooked for you?” She asked him.

Laughing, Aaron shook his head. “Nah, if nobody ever cooked for me before I’d probably be dead,” he chuckled, although he soon grew sheepish. “I’ve just never, you know…” he glanced to the side, lowering his voice a bit. “I’ve never really been on a date.”

That wasn’t what she meant, but she was a little distracted by his admission to correct him. “What?” Lilie was in complete disbelief, though she tried to wrap her brain around the idea. “But...no. No, that can’t be right. I mean, have you looked at yourself? And...and you’re sweet, and patient, and gentle, and...and no one’s ever asked you out?”

Okay, well, maybe people were intimidated by him; he was a Starag after all, and she remembered her own reaction in finding that out. But then the opposite was just as difficult to believe! “And you’ve never liked anyone enough to ask them out, either?” She ended up asking. “But...that means I’m the first to…?”

Ah, his ears were going to catch on fire if she kept complimenting him! Aaron could hardly look Lilie in the eye, and the kitchen got a lot warmer as she started listing off his apparently date-able qualities. Moon above, she was so generous! Not that he thought she’d insult him or anything, she was much too kind and understanding to do that, but there was no way he came off as that good without at least a few of his many glaring flaws creeping in. Good looks, fair enough – he wasn’t vain, but his family was carefully bred for certain aesthetic qualities – but all that? No way.

“Yep, you get the honours,” he eventually confessed, grinning sheepishly as he offered a little gesture of presentation. He shook his head, his smile more embarrassed than anything, but still clinging to his face. “Remember, I grew up in Noila castle! My family is very curated! Which meant no cavorting in the servants’ quarters.”

He burst into a real laugh at that, cringing at his words even as he said them and wagging a finger for good measure. “The Academy is my first real chance at… anything like this, and even then, it’s…” he bit his lip.

Lilie could hardly believe what she was hearing, but she hung onto his every word. Aaron really was a good guy, wasn’t he? Very formal, and very by-the-books, but it was really charming. As he trailed off, she couldn’t help the slightly devilish giggle. Okay, maybe she wasn’t as rigid as he was, but she wasn’t some badass biker chick or anything. She was as plain as vanilla ice cream, the most daring thing she had ever done was pierce her ears. And that wasn’t even daring, that was a birthday present!

“Daring?” She asked. “Well, you are cavorting with the rabble now, you’re basically a rebel.”

Aaron wanted to sink into the floor with embarrassment, but fortunately, Lilie seemed to take it in stride. “Daring is a good word for it,” he replied, pulling Lilie into another hug as the sheer volume of that underestimation struck him. But he had to laugh; she was kinda right, after all. Of course, he wasn’t sure if he’d call her Lilie “rabble”.

“You know me, Mr. Rebellious,” he joked back, even if it left him in doubt whether he was really joking at all. Before meeting Lilie, his biggest act of rebellion was probably wearing argyle socks, but here he was.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true, but still.

A timer on the stove beeped, pulling Aaron out of his head and off that train of thought, probably for the better. “Does that mean it’s done?” he asked, releasing Lilie so she could take care of whatever it was that needed her attention.

The girl nodded, reluctantly stepping away and pressing a few buttons on the stove. “Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll bring you your plate,” She told him as she looked through the cabinets for said plates. Stepping back to the stove, she double checked that everything was done before grabbing a pair of tongs and a spatula. Encouraged by the conversation, she went about plating the meat and vegetables as artfully as she could muster.

Once she finished, she hastily whipped some cream and plopped it onto the cupcakes, leaving them under a dome as she hurried to the fridge. Pulling out a pitcher, she quickly sliced some fruit before throwing them in, grabbing a pair of cups and placing everything on a tray. Everything looked perfect, much to her delight, and she carefully brought over the tray to the table where Aaron sat.

“Dinner is served, my good sir,” She decided to keep up the charade for a little longer, placing the plate and empty cup in front of him. Pouring his drink into his glass, she did the same for her own cup, putting her own plate in front of her seat and tugging at her apron, folding it gently and placing it on the tray. While she was eager to eat, she made sure she didn’t take the first bite, instead watching Aaron intently for his reaction.

Aaron did as he was bid, inwardly glad she didn’t want him to help; while his serving skills far outmatched his cooking skills, with his luck he’d probably drop something and ruin the meal Lilie put so much effort into. He felt a little odd sitting alone in the dining room, almost like he was waiting for a meal from the staff at home (which was certainly not the case here – Lilie was far above them), but his uneasiness was forgotten when Lilie appeared, carrying a tray laden with impressive food.

“Wow,” he said for the umpteenth time that night, his admiration plain on his face as Lilie distributed plates and glasses. “Very impressive.”

The food smelled excellent and looked professionally done, plated elegantly but not so beautiful as to discourage the diner from eating it. It took Aaron a second to realize Lilie was waiting for him to eat first, though, and he snatched up his utensils almost a little too fast, eagerly cutting into his chicken and taking a bite.

“Mmmh,” he groaned happily, savouring the mouthful before he could talk. “You really weren’t kidding about the cooks here, were you?” he teased, offering a grateful smile and taking another bite. He was no food critic, but the chicken was moist and flavourful and comforting, and it was all complimented by the unbelievably gratifying fact that Lilie had done it all for him. “This is beautiful! Thank you so much. I am definitely adding this to my journal.”

Lilie could’ve exploded with happiness at Aaron’s approval, though she did let out a very quiet sigh of relief. He liked it! The panic and mess and chaotic kitchen were worth it! The girl was practically beaming as she finally decided to cut out her own piece to eat, though his last statement was a little curious.

“You’re very welcome,” She replied first and foremost, though before she took a bite, she decided to comment, “I’m flattered you’d include me in your journal. Is it something you use for memories?”

“Not really, although that would be a good idea,” Aaron commented, making a mental note to consider that as part of his Mental program coping scheme. He took another bite before speaking again, only now realizing how hungry he was. “I mostly just keep health journals. You know, tracking my weight, workouts, vitals, any issues that come up – and food, of course.” He smiled, gesturing to the plate. “I usually only track rough caloric and nutritional intake, but I do mark down when I have especially tasty meals I’d like to have again.”

Wow, Aaron was really into his health. Lilie kept track of her weight anytime she was under where she needed to be, but that usually meant adding some baked goods to her diet. Aaron sounded like he was keeping himself optimal. That must be a mage thing since he was so casual about it. And she could still be flattered!

“I’m happy to cook for you anytime,” She told him cheerfully before finally taking a bite. Ah, it was good, he wasn’t just saying it! “I usually cook for myself every day, so if you’re ever tired of the dining hall, you could come over.”

Aaron knew that was an offer he couldn’t freely accept, but that Lilie would make it at all filled him with a warmth he couldn’t quite describe. It was close to the warm, welcoming feeling of going home again, but not quite the same – there was just something new and precious about this feeling of being wanted, even if he couldn’t for the life of him understand why she did.

He wanted nothing more than to cherish that feeling like a delicate ember inside him, but unfortunately the situation demanded a certain amount of honesty. “That’s really sweet, thank you,” he began. “I’d love to do this more often, it’s just… hard to tell how feasible it will be.”

He held his hand up before Lilie could jump to any conclusions, realizing how bad that sounded. “I said that wrong, sorry,” he insisted, “It’s just— I guess I should tell you, things are going to be changing a bit for me soon, and I won’t really know what that’ll look like until later.”

There, hopefully that was less scary? “Once I know, you’ll know,” he added, reaching for his fork once more. “Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere or anything like that.”

It was hard to admit Lilie was disappointed, but she had to put her personal feelings aside as Aaron continued. For some reason, his words made her nervous; changes? Was it because of the assassination? But if Varis was alive, what did that have to do with Aaron?

“What do you mean by that?” She ended up asking, frowning. “What’s changing?”

Aaron used another bite of food as an excuse to put his thoughts in order, trying to figure out how to put the situation delicately. It was times like these he really wished he was better with words. If he just came out and said it, Lilie might get the wrong impression; she was still pretty unfamiliar with the vampire-mage world and might mistake it for cruelty, not seeing the need for drastic measures. But he couldn’t just lie either. Could he?

No, he shouldn’t. Besides, it would become obvious sooner or later; best get the discussion out of the way now. “Well, my relationship with my Master has been a bit… difficult for both of us, so in the wake of all this recent commotion, he decided some changes should be made.”

Aaron caught the uneasy look on Lilie’s face and tried to comfort her. “It’s nothing really out of the ordinary, I promise. He just figured – and I agree – that having so many remnants of Noila life around me is kind of… inhibiting my transition from the Noilas to the Sinnenodels. And that’s not good for either of us, it just makes everything harder, so going forward, I’m going to make more of a… a clean break.”

He took another bite of his food to emphasize the triviality of the matter, even if he didn’t quite see it that way himself. But that was mostly just his own whining; mages lost contact with their families all the time when they changed houses, he wasn’t entitled to any more than they were.

Lilie stared at Aaron the entire time he spoke, though once he finished, she had no idea how to reply to that. A ‘difficult relationship’ was something everyone had with the Sinnenodel TA, but if she understood him right, Varis was making Aaron cut off all ties with his past life. Because...that would somehow make things easier? Wouldn’t that just make Aaron resentful? That was literally the punishment Salem had to go through!

“I’m sorry to hear that he’s making you do that,” Lilie finally spoke, frowning. “But...do you actually think that’s a good idea?”

Aaron shook his head quickly, wanting to dispel that misconception as soon as possible. “Oh no, he’s not making me do anything. He gave me a choice,” he explained. “And yeah, I do. I know it’ll be hard for a while, but… this is my life now. Clinging to the one I lost just makes it harder for me to fit into my new role, and that isn’t good for Master and it certainly isn’t good for me.”

He wanted to return to his meal to try and make light of the situation, but the look on Lilie’s face made him feel guilty. “It’s fine, I promise,” he insisted, taking a bite for good measure. “Besides, it’s only for a year.”

For some reason, his words hit her hard. It sounded logical and it made sense; if you just kept clinging to the past, it wasn’t possible to move on and leave the future open. It genuinely sounded like a good thing from his perspective and if she was being honest, she should think the same way. But it was also a terrifying thought to just up and leave everything and everyone you knew behind, even if it was only temporary.

“I see,” came her quiet reply after what felt like forever.

Brow furrowing, Aaron set his utensils down and reached over, taking one of Lilie’s hands in his. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up,” he apologized, offering a smile. “I don’t need to bother you with all that. I just wanted to explain because I don’t know what kind of availability I’ll have for nice things like this for the time being.”

Lilie watched him for a moment, thinking of what she wanted to say. “I want you to bother me, though,” She ended up admitting. “But it’s not a bother. Your problems and the things that happen...I want you to count on me, you know?” She ended up squeezing his hand back, trying to find the right words she wanted to say.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re alone,” She told him. “That’s what I’m here for. And even if it isn’t a lot, well...I’ll just be happy with what I can get. And we’ll figure it out as we go along, you know?”

Lilie’s words were heartwarming, but one in particular raised Aaron’s eyebrows. “So… there’s a ‘we’?”

The white haired girl opened her mouth, though she paused, blushing. “I want there to be,” She said quietly, giving him a small smile. “Do you?”

Aaron’s heart jumped in his throat. “I—I think so,” he stammered, mouth moving out of sync with his brain. Did that even make sense? Was this even possible for him? He didn’t know; all he knew was he wanted it desperately, and didn’t want to wait around to find out if it was.

“Yes,” he amended, smiling despite himself.

Lilie’s eyes practically shined at his response, her smile widening as she squeezed his hand gently. “Then here we are,” She told him softly.

All the tension Aaron didn’t notice building up melted away at that little squeeze, chased out by that new, wonderful warmth Lilie instilled in his chest. He didn’t know what to say; instead, he rose from his chair and wrapped his arms around Lilie’s shoulders from behind hers, burying his face in her neck.

“You’re the best,” was the best he could muster, giving her a kiss on the cheek. “It’ll be a much easier year with you around.”

_@Hero